Cuddled In His Coat
by Yonahdoxie57
Summary: When Molly secretly follows Sherlock on a dangerous mission and is flung down a flight of concrete stairs, Sherlock blames himself for not noticing he was being followed by her in the first place. He carries her back to her flat but loses his focus and calm. He doesn't know what to do but desperately tries to patch her up. My favorite to write: Fluffy and Whumpy!


When Molly secretly follows Sherlock on a dangerous mission and is flung down a flight of concrete stairs, Sherlock blames himself for not noticing he was being followed by her in the first place. He carries her back to her flat but loses his focus and calm. He doesn't know what to do but desperately trys to fix her none the less. My favorite to write: Fluffy and Whumpy!

"You shouldn't have...Why would you...I can't believe..." Sherlock's voice mumbled harshly like an angry father's.

Molly couldn't quite understand how she was moving but not walking on her feet. The arm under her knees and another across her back told her that she was being carried, bridal style, all curled up. That was a first for her.

The world slowly seeped into her mind. First the sounds of Sherlock's disapproval followed by Big Ben distantly calling out the hour to be three o'clock.

In the morning?

Then the familiar smell of rain, puddles and fog. Next was more detail in the sensation of being cradled, not just in Sherlock's arms and held tightly against his chest but being wrapped up in some stiff material. She deduced it to be the long jacket he always wore. It certainly carried his scent. Her elbows were tucked in and her head was being held upright along with most of her upper body. She felt his collar bone against her temple. Her eyes were still too heavy to open but she knew these three things were certain.

1\. She was with Sherlock.

2\. She was in London.

3\. She had a concussion.

"Sherlock?" She whispered which caused her ride to come to an abrupt hault.

"WHAT were you thinking?" The consulting detective was livid.

Full sentences formed in her mind but all her lips muttered was "...Where?".

He sighed and continued his brisk walk in the rain with his tender parcel. "Almost to your flat. Hospital's to risky, it's the first place they'll look for us."

"Sorry...who?" She cleared her throat and tried to wiggle a hand over the collar of his huge coat she was wrapped in.

"Try not to move Molly Hooper. I didn't get to check for broken bones. Had to move quickly." He spoke quickly as he jay walked across an empty street in an athletic jaunt.

"Why?..." A raindrop tickled her nose and she wanted to rub it off.

"Because you-" He swallowed another scolding and took a breath before continuing. "Here we are." Sherlock already had her keys at the ready. He slipped them in, locked the door behind them and took to the stairs unimpeded by having to carry her. As soon as he was in her flat he took four strides in and lowered her to the middle of the room on the floor.

"But-" She started but he cut her off.

He tore off her shoes. "Can you move your toes?" He asked fast and cleared the coat, that would be too long for her, uncovering her feet.

She wiggled a few.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief as he took a hand to slick back his hair that was dripping on his patient.

"What about your fingers?" He opened up his coat to reveal her swaddled arms.

She moved them all obediently.

"Sherlock." She spoke calmly to the frantic man.

"What about... What about, damnit I don't know what else to ask! Ugh! I can't think!" He slapped his hands onto either side of his face and breathed fast.

"Sherlock, I think I'm concussed" She was so calm about it.

"Not now, Molly! I'm trying to fix you!" Sherlock yelled. In the seconds that passed after he listened to his own voice echo in his mind, he regretted his words and volume. While he believed he only had charm when he was faking it, callousness came easily to him and through his few friendships he had learned when it was inappropriate. That was pretty much always and definitely in this situation.

He nervously adjusted his weight kneeling more comfortably along side the woman who had risked her safety to protect him and forced himself to focus and calm down.

He looked down at his knees, anywhere but her face. "Molly, why did you follow me?"

She swallowed.

He continued. "Why did you jump on him?" His patience hung on a thread.

"He... He had a gun pointed at you." She moused quietly.

"Why... Why did you think you were capable of stopping him?!? Did you think???" His tone grew louder.

She stopped staring at him and looked away quite angry at his assumption that she was weak.

"Why did you..." Sherlock's voice actually hitched a bit so he continued quieter. "Why did you risk your life to save mine?"

He didn't notice her hand reaching up to him until it touched his cheek since his eyes were squeezed shut trying to keep back tears. They jolted open at her touch and he finally looked at hers, also keeping tears.

"You save more lives then I do. More than I could ever dream."

"That's not-" He started to argue but he had to look up to keep the excess moisture from escaping his eyes. Then he suddenly sneezed loud enough to scare her cat.

"You're soaked." She stated weakly.

"None of the cabs would take a man carrying an unconscious woman in the middle of the night. Only saw two anyhow."

"Unconscious?"

He nodded. "And bloody."

"Blood?" She looked at her hands first and didn't see much past a scrape or two. Sherlock was on his feet heading to the kitchen to find the clean kitchen towels, he knew where she kept them. The coat was more loose now so she moved a little and the pain stung her hard. She tilted her head to see where he had gone and the little bit of cushion from his collar wasn't enough to block the offending hardness of the floor piercing her skull.

"Sherlock, what happened? Are you hurt?" She tried to speak loud enough for him to hear her over the faucet running. She couldn't place where the sounds were coming from, they echoed all around. He returned with a small bowl of warm water, a handful of kitchen towels and one bag of frozen mixed veggies she was going to make curry with last week.

She wanted to protest on her vegetables' behalf as he gingerly lifted her head and slid the pea and carrot bag under it. "Those are-"

"Not as important as this." He demanded.

"Cold..."

"Too bad. You probably do have a concussion. Do try to stay awake. I um... That is if you don't mind...I need to clean your other wounds. A flight of parking deck concrete stairs aren't exactly the cleanest now are they."

"Stairs?" She looked aimlessly up at the ceiling that seemed to crawl above her. Meanwhile he wiped away the grit from the scrapes that traveled up and down the outside of her legs through her torn leggings. They would later reveal bruises that would take at least a month to heal.

"Yes, Molly. The stairs you fell down after you jumped on that drug dealer's back. Remember?"

She looked on confused with no reply.

"You saw the gun and from where you were hiding you jumped on his back from behind. Then he stumbled a bit and you both feel down those God-awful bloody steps." He worked professionally by lifting her sweater just enough to reveal her right hip that had taken a heavy blow. She paid no attention to his administrations. He desperately hoped he wasn't hurting her.

"There were two." She muttered sleepily and her eyes began to shut.

"What did I say about sleeping?!" He dropped the cloth and leaned over her face more closely and held her face in his hand. "Stay awake! Don't make me get another bag of peas!" He threatened her enough to get her eyes to open fully again. Before sitting back he took them in for a long moment back and forth, right and left. Remarkable and so far dilated equally, good sign the head trama wasn't more serious. If she could carry on conversation a little more it would be safe for her to sleep a bit.

He continued calmly picking up a new cloth. "Yes there were two. I dispatched the other for the time being."

"Did I...?"

Practically reading her mind he completed her thought. "No he's not dead. Still had a pulse. Used his phone to dial 999. Don't worry about them anyway. They're part of Moriarty's circle. The drug dealing was actually a front." He was tending to the scrape under her chin.

"I thought..."

"Yes, yes I know, you thought I was using again. Well I'm not. Not at all. You hear me Molly Hooper? I am clean." He answered sternly.

A tear rolled out the corner of her eye and towards her ear. He saw this and wiped it with a clean corner of his cloth.

"Crying won't be necessary. Do you have disinfectant? Antiseptic?" All business.

She nodded.

"In the bathroom cubbies?"

She nodded again and he hopped up.

When he returned, Molly's cat was rubbing it's face on her toes and it created a sweet smile on Molly's exhausted face. When he came closer it trotted down the hall to the safety it found under her bed.

"Here, take this." He ordered in a low soft voice. He offered her two pain pills and a papercup of water which she took.

Sherlock dabbed antiseptic soaked cotton balls on her scrapes. She would wince at some which continually made him jump back and apologize profusely. He waited patiently till she calmed and he would tenitively begin again. His hands were nervous but his movements tender.

"Sherlock, I'm cold."

"I know. It's the antiseptic." Still focused.

"No... I'm cooold." She whined this time.

He looked up from her knee and watched her pull his heavy wool coat to close across her chest and arms with a shiver. His face contorted with worry, she could simply be cold from the ice placed where she hit her head or it could be a sign of serious brain trauma.

He had to keep an eye on her tonight. He wouldn't be able to leave her side even if he needed to.

Sherlock was learning how important Molly was to him and how little her own self worth was in comparison.

Without words and being satisfied with his first aid, he scooped her right up and carried her down the hall to her cozy bedroom. He didn't remove his coat from her only because she clung to it for dear life. He had made the mistake of putting her on top of her quilt so he folded it over so she could be covered up in a book cover of warmth. He turned away to go into her top dresser drawer to fetch a pair of long fuzzy socks that he then gently slipped onto her feet. She curled them up and brought up her knees.

She sighed happily and cuddled herself in.

He took a knee on the floor next to the bed. "Molly? Molly. Listen to me. I'm going to let you sleep but I'll wake you in an hour to check in on you. Deal?" But she was already breathing steadily and peacefully.

He sat down on the floor with his back resting against the side of the bed she occupied. Sherlock pulled out his phone and considered calling the best doctor he knew but that would be impossible. He couldn't know he was alive. Besides, Sherlock was pretty proud of himself already. Just a few questions for Google and everything should be fine.

Of course, nothing about this was fine.

Not only had he failed to notice he was being followed by Molly, he blamed the sound of the rain for hindering his perception, he also could do nothing to protect her in that moment. He was ashamed for being saved. If he had gotten shot, or at least held at gun point, that could have gotten into their base and destroyed it from the inside out. Not to say that he resented what she did for him. It was a brave and selfless act that he couldn't begin to understand.

He set an alarm for one hour and tilted his head back on the edge of her mattress still sitting on the floor with his back against the side.

His alarm blared and left a ping in his ear. "Molly?! Molly!" He whipped around to touch her face and rouse her.

"Mmm?"

"Molly, do you know where you are?" Sherlock asked frantically.

"London?" Her eyes still shut as she wanted to find soft sleep again.

"Could you be more specific?" He unconsciously rubbed her cheek with his thumb as a form of unease.

She slowly opened one eye about half way and looked past his face. "My flat. My room. Sherlock? Why are you in my room?" Both eyes widened and her pupils dilated naturally.

"Do you remember? Think about it." He encouraged her reply. "Please, Molly. I need you to be okay."

"You carried me home. Rain was cold."

"Yes yes. Good good. Before that?"

"Before that... I was worried you were going out to buy drugs in the middle of the night so I followed you and...there was a gun?" She started questioning details in her mind. "Oh! Were you shot Sherlock?!?" She begged an answer and became more alert.

Her selflessness shined again. He thought on how he didn't deserve to call this precious creature his friend. After so many harsh remarks she still obviously cared about him. He smiled a bit and noticed his hand was still on her so he whipped it away.

He cleared his throat. "No, no not at all. I'm fine. It's you with the concussion."

"Right... Why are you on the floor?"

"Well it's just that I couldn't leave you in this state and I um... I wasn't going to... I mean not without permission that is..." His words got lost in a low mumble.

She sighed and grinned warmly. "Get up here, you."

His face was shocked and he didn't know what to say he just stood up in a panic suddenly forgetting how one lays in a bed. He watched her fidget with the covers and make a place for him to get in.

The detective laid down where he was told and stiffly looked at the ceiling but soon felt her warm body finding comfort against his. She tucked her head comfortably in his shoulder with his arm under her neck. The easy pleasure of such a simple gesture made him smile. She cuddled into him more and he found his arms naturally being wrapped around her tiny frame.

He was afraid to ruin the moment but he thought it would be important to warn her. "I hope you understand this won't affect the importance of waking you every hour to check for concussion."

"That sounds nice." She was almost certainly already asleep again.

"You're nice, Molly Hooper." He breathed into her hair.


End file.
